Chronicles of the High General
Chapter 1 I recall a time in my childhood, far back. I was living in an orphanage close to the Capital City of Lordaeron. Must've been there close to fifteen years. I hoped that one day I could join the army of the Alliance of Lordaeron. They would tell the young ones tales of the great paladins before bed, stories of how they defeated the cursed orcs that killed our families in Elwynn. There was no point of hesitation for me. I was determined to become strong enough to defend the innocent, just as they defended us. Sure enough, that day would come, but I now realize that I was part of the majority when I wanted to be a hero. ' My friend, he was called Centenzo. He and I were like brothers. The first family I could remember. We shared the passion to become strong. As we grew up together, we would train every day, learning the ways and intricate skills involved in swordplay. He excelled at speed, agility, and stealth, while I grew strong at face to face combat, strategy, and endurance. We learned from each other's differences for the years that we spent growing up together. ' A fateful day came upon us when a group of bandits raided the orphanage and burned it to the ground. Centenzo and I were the only ones who survived by hiding in a cellar closet. After that day, we set out on our final quest together. It was of vengeance, but also of justice: to dispense punishment upon the allies of evil by our own hands. This was the dream. The stories of legendary heroes who saved the kingdom. We would finally begin our journey on the path of glory and righteousness by crushing the evil ones. Soon would we realize that this path was drenched in blood and tears. ' The bandits. This was not the first time the two of us had dealt with criminals, but it was now personal, and neither of us had a single intention to take any prisoners. Our home had been destroyed not once, but twice. Two young lives filled with hardship sought out vengeance, and there was only five criminals that stood in our way. We salvaged what we could from the ashes of the orphanage. It wasn’t much, but we were able to barter ourselves true blades with it. Centenzo took a pair of short swords, blades used by the Kul Tiras Navy, I took the best greatsword I could find, and we set out. ' We tracked the thieves down to the edge of Hillsbrad. It was like hunting wolves drunk on strong dwarven mead. The tracks became fresh and more frequent. Closer and closer. We started to hear voices and the trees began to thin. It wasn't long before we reached a clearing. It was a small camp, a campfire crackling between two tents. Nearby was a wagon full of miscellaneous items, stolen no doubt. Two men were sitting outside a tent counting their gold. Centenzo and I looked at each other for a moment. We exchanged nothing more than our sight, yet both of us knew. This was the beginning. In a blur, he advanced in the shadows, rounding to the other side of the camp. I stood behind a tall tree, as close as I could get without being detected. After a few moments, *Fssshhhiiing*. The first one had lost his head to the cold of Centenzo’s steel. I rushed forward as the other three bandits stumbled out of their tent. I lifted my greatsword, then cleaved into the smallest one. I cut through his vitals and into his spine, mortally wounding him. The other two came at me. They must have actually been drunk because they couldn't hit me if I stood still. Even with a large blade, I was quick to divorce the head from the second one. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Centenzo trading slashes with the other lookout, but I returned my attention to the last of the trio. He growled, “You cannot defeat me! I will burn your corpse!” He pulled out a rifle, trying to aim at me. There would be no time to react to the shot. I had to do something. Yes… burn my corpse… burn…. I reached down, grabbing a flaming log from the campfire. I tossed it at him as he fired. The log shattered from the impact, but deflected the trajectory of the bullet, causing it to narrowly miss my head. Flaming log shrapnel landed on him, so I took the opportunity. I leaped at him, swinging from a distance just enough to slice his hands right off. Then again, but at his knees. His broken, flaming body struggled to stay upright, but I wanted him to be ended. I finally took my blade overhead, and with all my might, I cut him cleanly in half. I stood there, watching the flesh and muscle combust, trying to find some kind of satisfaction, but there was nothing. I didn't see Centenzo come from behind me. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “ Centorus. It's done.” I turned and looked at him. “No.” I frowned. “It has only just begun.” Chapter 2 My rise to power was an oddity. To think, a boy who had done nothing more than hunt in the woods his whole life would eventually find a place in society. It was a miracle of the Light, and I am blessed to be able to sit and reflect on my past. Once Centenzo and I had completed our mission to avenge the orphanage, it had occurred to me the harsh reality of my hopes and dreams was brutal, tortuous work as we would now have to walk the path of a judge. The burden was new to me. The ability to judge whether or not one should live or be put to death. I had only just taken the first step towards that path, yet I had already taken three lives. Three lifetimes down the path, and I had no way of turning back. So, I embraced this new path. Now, I was to share this burden forever, so my instinct was to attempt to make this burden more bearable. I had already spent my days building up my strength and skill by hunting, but the hardest training of my life would soon come upon me. At this point, Centenzo had realized the path as well, and he embraced it far more than me. He was born to kill, so kill he did. I saw this in him, and I knew that we would no longer be able to work in harmony. We had learned all that we could from each other, so we parted ways. We would walk on opposite sides of this path, but both of us knew that should one of us need help, the other would not be far. We would disappear for awhile, allow the memories of our old selves to fade, then emerge as something better. Chapter 3 I had lived in the wilderness for about five years, and the plague of undeath was just setting upon the north. I was nearing the peak of my physical capabilities within the wild, but seeing this new challenge, I believed I could be pushed even further. I traveled north, not knowing what to expect. There is nothing I can say about the atrocities committed by the scourge. It is a time that I will never forget, but never speak of. It was from that sheer horror that I felt a need to find an order to align myself. There was one such group that had recently formed from the remnants of the Silver Hand. The Scarlet Crusade. The word corruption barely even begins to describe the dark path that the Scarlet Crusade was sent down. The irony of such a righteous cause being mangled into bigots, murderers, and eventually terrorists was the true tragedy of the order. But it wasn’t always that way. In the Crusade, there was only one concern: eradicate all who destroyed Lordaeron. Many were paranoid, and scared. They did not deserve the punishment they had endured. I joined the Crusade when Isillien and Abbendis were traveling the lands, purging undead, and trained under Orman of Stromgarde, the First Captain-General. My days as a Scarlet were few in number, for I had realized their fanaticism sooner than many. Too often, groups of refugees fleeing the undead would be crushed by our swords. Isillien spread this fear deep into the ranks of the order, that you could never be too careful who might be undead. But you couldn’t really argue with him. He said that all undead - Forsaken and Scourge - must be destroyed so that our land and our people could begin to heal. I could not bear some of the evil deeds carried out by the order, so I slowly became isolated from work in the field. Instead, I would focus more on training and study within the walls of the Scarlet Enclave. But even there, the fear ran deep. I had heard news of many humans resettling in Kalimdor, and I had small ambitions within the Crusade, so I decided to relocate myself to the south again. I gathered my belongings and left, saying I was to “join the fight in the west,” and I never looked back. Chapter 4 I wanted to take the next step in my journey, and that step would finally reunite me with the common world. I went to Stormwind, immediately enlisted in the military, and started training once again. I found myself enriched with the cultures blended into the Alliance, though things soon began to take a turn. Not long after I arrived, Varian had gone missing, the Horde was mobilizing. I knew I would see the face of battle once again, but I just didn’t know when. I was relatively unknown back in those days. I found that I tend to isolate myself from others. So, I was alone again, but in a different city. I was more of a mercenary than a soldier, taking care of local problems here and there, mostly training on my own. I made a friend or two, but there was few who even knew my name, and nobody who knew where I came from. I kept to myself, training, studying, never letting myself slip. This went on for years, and I grew much in this time, but I was not satisfied. By some odd circumstance, I decided to make a pilgrimage to the Scarlet Monastery, if only to see if any of my old comrades had survived. Though dangerous, and not a very wise decision, something unexpected would happen upon my arrival. In the ruins of the Monastery dwelled an order that I had never imagined. The Scarlet Templars. I dropped what little allegiance I had to the Alliance in favor of the reformed ranks. A Holy Order, uncorrupted, that would take effective action directly against the undead. Now, I had a reason to put all of my training to use. Chapter 5 They call me the High General. It is a title only given to the strongest, wisest warriors. To many, it means that the owner of the title is deserving of respect on account of his great accomplishments. To me, it means nothing. My title is little more than a tool for me to display authority. I do not need something so pathetic as a title to show I am worthy. Worthy of the High Command, worthy of the trust and bond of our sacred order, and worthy of taking up a blade against the enemies of the Light. What I am called can not even begin to describe what I am. A better title for me: Templar of the Sacred Flame. Since that order contains no real leader, and has no political degree, it is considered a useless one. But really, it is one of my most important. That is a title that no badge or document can show, but only by a display of my power. My power to create and destroy, to heal and to burn. I did not receive power from the title. I gave it power. I do not wish for a badge of authority, for there are many in our world who are suited for managing and commanding. I am not like them. I wish to grow alongside my order. I wish to help others, to teach them what I know, and in turn, learn from them. When the farmer provides nourishment for his crops, the crops will, in return, provide nourishment for the farmer. The path that I have always walked has seen many travelers, and though I still have a long way to go, it is no longer lonely. I do not know what is to come next, but I look forward to it. Category:Stories